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Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red
After the Danish sword, and thy free awe
Pays homage to us), thou may'st not coldly set
Our sovereign process; which imports at full,
By letters conjuring to that effect,
The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England ;
For like the hectic in

my And thou must cure me : ?Till I know 'tis done, Howe'er my haps, my joys weré ne'er begun. 150


blood he rages,


The Frontiers of Denmark. Enter FORTINBRAS, with

an Army.
For. Go, captain, from me greet the Danish king;
Tell him, that, by his licence, Fortinbras
Craves the conveyance of a promis'd march
Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous.
If that his majesty would aught with us,
We shall express our duty in his eye,
And let him know so.

Capt. I will do't, my lord.
For. Go softly on. [Exit FORTINBRAS, &c.

STERN, &c.
Ham. Good şir, whose powers are these?

160 Kij


Capt. They are of Norway, sir.
Ham. How purpos’d, sir, I pray you ?
Capt. Against some part of Poland.
Ham. Who commands them, sir?
Capt. The nephew of old Norway, Fortinbras.

Ham. Goes it against the main of Poland, sir,
Or for some frontier ?

Capt. Truly to speak, and with no addition,
We go to gain a little patch of ground,
That hath in it no profit but the name.

170 To

pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it;
Nor will it yield to Norway, or the Pole,
A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee.

Ham. Why, then the Polack never will defend it.
Capt., Yes, 'tis already garrison'd.
Ham. Two thousand souls, and twenty thousand

Will not debate the question of this straw:
This is the imposthume of much wealth and peace ;
That inward breaks, and shews no cause without
Why the man dies.—humbly thank you, sir. 18.
Capt. God be wi'ye, sir,

[Exit Captain. Ros. Will't please you go, my lord ? Ham. I will be with you straight. Go a little before.

[ Exeunt Ros. and the rest. How all occasions do inform against me, And spur my dull revenge! What is a man, If his chief good, and market of his time, Be but to sleep, and feed ? a beast, no more. Sure, he, that made us with such large discourse,


Looking before, and after, gave us not?
That capability and god-like reason

To fust in us unus'd. Now, whether it be
Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple
Of thinking too precisely on the event,
A thought, which, quarter'd, hath but one part

wisdom, And, ever, three parts coward, I do not know, Why yet I live to say, This thing's to do ; Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and


To do't. Examples, gross as earth, exhort me:
Witness, this army of such mass and charge,
Led by a delicate and tender prince;

Whose spirit, with divine ambition puft,
Makes mouths at the invisible event;
Exposing what is mortal, and unsure,
To all that fortune, death, and danger, dare,
Even for an egg-shell. Rightly, to be great
Is not to stir without great:argument ;
But greatly to find quarrel in a straw,
When honour's at the stake.' How stand I then,
That have a father kill'd, a mother stain’d,
Excitements of my, reason, and my blood,
And let all sleep? while, to my shame, I see
The imminent death of twenty thousand inen,
That, for a fantasy, and trick of fame,
Go to their graves like beds; fight for a plat,
Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause,
Which is not tomb enough, and continent, a



To hide the slain ?-0, from this time forth,
My thoughts be bloody, or be nothing worth!


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Elsineur. A Room in the Palace. Enter the Queen, and


Queen. I will not speak with her.

Hor. She is importunate : indeed, distract; 220
Her mood will needs be pity'd.

Queen. What would she have ?
Hor. She speaks much of her father; says, she

There's tricks i' the world, and hems, and beats her

Spurns enviously at straws ; speaks things in doubt,
That carry but half sense: her speech is nothing,
Yet the unshaped use of it doth move
The hearers to collection; they aiin at it,
And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts ;
Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield

230 Indeed would make one think, there might be

thought, Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. Queen. 'Twere good, she were spoken with; for slie niay strew



Dangerous conjectares in ill-breeding ininds :
Let her come in.

To my sick soul, as sin's true nature is,'
Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss :
So full of artless jealousy is guilt,
It spills itself, in fearing to be spilt.

Re-enter HORATIO, with OPHELIA. Oph. Where is the beauteous majesty of Denmark ? Queen. How now, Ophelia ?

241 Oph. How should I your true love know

From another one?
By his cockle hat, and staff,

And by his sandal shoon. [Singing. Queen. Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? Oph. Say you? nay, pray you, mark,

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone ;
At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

O, ho!

Queen. Nay, but Ophelia,
Oph. Pray you, mark.
White his shroud as the mountain Snow,

Enter King.
Queen. Alas, look here, my lord.
Oph. Larded all with sweet flowers ;
Which bewept to the grave


gos Il'ith true-love showers.

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